


Ahead of the Game

by lmirandas



Series: Inconvenient [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Greg is the Quidditch Captain, Hufflepuff!Greg, Multi, Mycroft is so done, Mycroft is the Head Boy, Potterlock, Potterstrade, Slow Build, Slytherin!Mycroft, Sneaky Greg, anthea ships it, part of a series, pre-Mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 08:57:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15905058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lmirandas/pseuds/lmirandas
Summary: Greg is facing some trouble with his Quidditch teammates, and he needs someone to help. Luckily, he befriended the high and mighty Mycroft Holmes. And this gives him an excuse to ask for his help, even if the aloof Head Boy keeps avoiding meeting with Greg face to face. Greg likes to keep ahead of the game, even if it means getting his hands a little dirty.





	Ahead of the Game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ngaijuuyan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ngaijuuyan/gifts).



> Not Brit picked or betaed, this finally, finally came out of my brain, I struggled a little in doing justice to the characters in my mind, but some rest away from RL made it possible. Nothing belongs to me, BBC Sherlock belongs to Mofftiss and the wonderful magical world to JK Rowling, this is not for profit, just fun.

"You both have to be fucking kidding me."

Mike gasped at his friend's outburst and mockingly covered Toby's ears.

"Such language! And on a captain of a Quidditch team. But no, we are not kidding Greg, if things don't start getting better for us in Potions both Toby and me will have to quit the team."  
"You are both saying that if your grades don't improve, I will have to find not _one_ , but _two_ new Beaters when the season hasn't even started yet! You both are killing me here. Any chance that I can tutor you both? And how the hell did this even happen? Mike, you are the headmaster's son and Toby, your father is the sodding Potion Master of this school."  
"Language Lestrade, and to be honest, my grades aren't that bad, just not to my father's standards. Mike's are though. He is going to fail Potions, and I don't think he is going to get an O.W.L. on it this year."  
"Mike, I don't think your dad would pull you out of the team if you fail potions, he is like the kindest man in the world! He even says he was bollocks at Potions himself!"  
"Ah, but you forget a critical thing. Headmaster Stamford, Merlin bless my papa's soul, he can be the nicest bloke ever. But my mum..."

At this information, Greg winced internally, of course, Matron Stamford, the school head nurse and wife of the headmaster was famous for being a very strict, no-nonsense woman. And, being a trained healer and all, she was terrific at potions. No doubt she was the one Mike Jr. was scared of, he would if he was in his shoes.

"And, no offence mate, we know you are no slack at potions, but my dad is grading me according to N.E.W.T. standards, and rumour has it you were having trouble brewing a particular potion a couple of weeks ago, and the term is just starting."

Shit. Rumours did fly faster than the Snitch in the Common Room. He probably had to blame his new Seeker for this if he was honest, she was the only one, her and her little band of troublemakers, that knew what had transpired between him and Mycroft two weeks ago. Of course, no one but him actually knew that the potion was perfectly brewed. It's just his stupid feelings making things awkward and why did he have to fall for the most emotionally, and currently physically, unavailable bloke in the whole school? That is Greg Lestrade for you, always aiming high in the sky, his dad said he flew too close to the sun more often than was healthy and now he is rambling in his head, and his teammates are going to think someone hexed him.

"That was just a minor fluke. And why the hell is your dad marking you at N.E.W.T. standards when you are just on the O.W.L. class? That should be illegal! You should tell on him to Professor Hudson, or better yet, Headmaster Stamford."

At this, both his teammates started laughing like maniacs; their round faces red with tears in their eyes.

"Honestly, mate, you think I will rat on my dad? Like, I still want Christmas and Birthday presents, you moron. Seriously, I know you care about Quidditch more than anything else, but you need to sort down your priorities."

Mike kept snorting, trying to keep the laughter at bay, but suddenly he became serious once more.

"If you can find someone else that can tutor us both, or maybe just Toby, I can use you since my grades don't need to be at N.E.W.T. standards, just like my-mum-will-not-kill-me standards, you can teach me at your current potion brewing level, and I will probably do way better than what I'm getting now as results. Last piece of work I got graded with a 'T' by Professor Gregson, so anything better than that I will be happy about."  
"Shit a T? Really? I never got a T, even in Divination, which sucked big time but I kinda got into it to try and predict Quidditch results, don't laugh at me you idiots, I've never failed a class in my life."  
"My, Greg, no wonder you don't date, no girl would ever tolerate such singlemindedness in a bloke," Toby laughed at Greg and continued in a teasing tone.  
"Shut up you little shit, just cause you and Mike can't find a date cause you are both ugly doesn't mean I can't, not that it's any of your business, but I don't date 'cause I have high standards," _and a massive crush on a guy who seems to make his priority to avoid me_. At least he answers back when I write in the accursed notebook, which I thought might make things easier for me, but seems to be an excuse not to see each other face to face.

Of course, the bastards thought it was the cue for another bout of uncontrollable laughter.

"Man, Greg, you are a riot. You should do a comedy show! Wizarding kind needs to liven out a little too. But seriously, if you can find someone that can teach us both at N.E.W.T. standards - don't make that face Mike, you will thank me later when you don't have to see this one's face beside practice- we can probably still play. Probably."  
"I will try my best. At least you told me this with enough time between matches. You can still play the first one, yeah?"  
"Yeah, well at least I can, Toby needs to improve his marks for the next assignment if not his dad is pulling the plug on Quidditch."  
"Shit. So this needs to happen fast, eh? I'm on it."

* * *

 

Greg left his two teammates to commiserate while he thought about his strategy. He had an obvious choice, and the boy said he owed Greg for taking care of his nuisance of a brother, protecting him from expulsion and various dangerous shenanigans. Just last weekend Greg had caught him and his little friends trying to reason with one of the acromantulas in the Forbidden Forest. A sodding acromantula. They were lucky Greg had permission from Professor Knight to look for wolfsbane for Professor Gregson in that part of the forest. They had an agreement since it helped with the potion that kept the former sane on his "bad nights" once a month. Sherlock had shrieked that he almost got an agreement with the beast for some of her venom, but somehow Greg had the idea that the transaction involved eating at least one of them. Lestrade had to grab Sherlock and stun the spider while motioning to the rest of the pack to follow him.

So, even if Mycroft didn't want to grace Greg with his presence, he might find a tutor for his beaters, probably wouldn't do it himself, even though Lestrade knew he could. He was tops in his year, and he wasn't usually present in most of the lessons, well, at least the ones he shared with Greg. He knew, he kept looking in the corner of his eye for the boy everytime the N.E.W.T. class was small enough that all the houses were together or when Hufflepuff paired with Slytherin, but it seemed Mycroft was even above lessons these days. Since the exams were at the end of term and the man had already completed his N.E.W.T.s, getting top marks in everything and getting more N.E.W.T.S. than anyone else in the school. The only subjects he didn't get one, according to Sally who knew everything about everyone, were Divination and Muggle Studies since it seemed even Mycroft Holmes wouldn't submit himself to the first one and as a Half-Blood probably didn't need the second one. Their year opened an individual course of Alchemy tutoring for him since almost no one had the patience and skill for the advanced magic involved in learning that particular discipline. They said Julius Flamel himself, a descendant of the famous alchemist Nicholas Flamel, corresponded with Mycroft. Not that Greg was trying to find out everything about Mycroft Holmes, no sir, just mere curiosity. It was not stalking if they were friends, right? The fact that Mycroft had eleven N.E.W.T.s was common knowledge. Probably.

Walking all the way to his common room, finally settling on one of the cosy armchairs close to the fireplace, overlooking Molly and Irene painting each other's nails on the floor while completing some assignment for Professor Hudson. Technically, students from other houses shouldn't spend all their time in another house Common Room, but who could tell these kids that they were doing something wrong. According to school rules, they were not, and that in the end was what mattered. Even if everyone else found it weird to have a girl in Slytherin robes applying a second layer of polish on her friend's nails, Greg didn't care.

Sighing, he opened the notebook, thinking about how to approach Mycroft without scaring him away. Their messages usually revolved about Sherlock and his shenanigans, and Lestrade wanted to change that but didn't know how. Maybe Mike and Toby were right, and he needed to get his head out of Quidditch. He wished he had dated more, sure, Greg flirted, but he never had a serious girlfriend or boyfriend for that matter. Sure, Lestrade had snogged people from every house, even fooled around with one boy from Beauxbatons Academy last summer, which he spent at _grand-mère_ 's place at the coast with cousin Philippe, who was a rogue and a ladies man. He felt unprepared for what he wanted to pursue with Mycroft, especially since the man seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth. Well, here goes nothing.

I need to see you. I want to ask for a favour, in person. His handwriting looked ridiculous on the empty page, the letters a little too close together, nevermind it took him ages to decide what to write.  
_I'm afraid at the moment I am rather occupied. Can't it be done through here? If it's Sherlock, prompt action is usually the best approach._ Greg wanted to curse and kiss the loopy handwriting at the same time, which meant Mycroft indeed paid attention but still didn't want to see him in person. Nevermind, time for plan B.

If he was honest with himself, he had planned this move for a very long time. He studied the spell, familiarised himself with what he wanted to do and how. Greg just needed the right excuse to push himself to do it. It was advanced magic, more so specifically what he wanted to do. Lestrade was confident in his abilities, and Mycroft was getting on his nerves. Alone in the Common Room except for the duo of troublemakers, he decided to give it a go. He grabbed the notebook and whispered "Proteo." It took but a second, and he had a replica of the one Mycroft gave him before. He flipped through the empty pages, the texture the same. Now he only needed to write on it, to see if his little mischief paid some dividends.

Anthea?  
_**Who is this? You don't have authorisation for this mean of communication. I'm afraid I will have to report you to the Head Boy and woe be unto you.**_  
Wow. No wonder you two are friends. Drama Queens.  
_**The report is going through faster if you insult me, you doofus.**_  
I'm sorry your ladyship, please forgive this humble servant who is in need of your wisdom.  
_**Better. So, what do you want Lestrade?**_  
You know who I am?  
**_I know everything about everyone._** This one is probably friends with Sally, evil woman. _**And you are the only one besides Mycroft who knows I have this notebook. It's easy to extrapolate.**_  
Wow, I'm impressed.  
_**You should be. So? I would love to chat, but I have a four feet essay that I need to write for Transfiguration.**_  
I need to see Mycroft, but he is avoiding me for some unknown reason.  
_**Mycroft is very busy, Lestrade.**_  
I know his time is valuable, but we are supposed to be friends, and friends just don't avoid each other through eternity.  
_**Friends? He said you are friends?**_  
And I have proof. I have it in writing!  
_**Ok. Say I trust you, and give you Mycroft's current whereabouts. Do you promise to keep it to yourself that it was me who helped you? And also, do you guarantee to be quick with whatever you are bothering him for? Mycroft is actually busy today.**_  
As opposed to the rest of the days when he was just avoiding me?  
_**Don't push your luck, Lestrade.**_  
Call me Greg, your ladyship.  
_**You owe me one Greg. Try the Room of Requirement. Do you know where it is? If not, find out. You will need to try and enter it yourself.**_  
Got it, thanks, Anthea.

* * *

 

Mycroft didn't know if he was meant to be amused or exasperated. Currently, it was a little bit of both. The person in front of him was unique, yes, but nobody, and he meant nobody, could interrupt him like her. The Head Girl, the one and only Elizabeth Alicia Smallwood. Half-Blood, like him, but with the particular that her father was a member of the House of Lords in the Muggle parliament who had married the eldest daughter of an old pure-blood family. The family had forgiven and embraced her marriage to a Muggle since he was filthy rich. She was not only wealthy but also by male standards, not that he had those standards for himself, one of the most beautiful girls in Hogwarts, long blonde hair, an elfin face and sparkly blue eyes. Also, a mind that could rival his own, and that is what they did. Fight. They went head to head in almost everything, going from proper discipline sanctions to the subject of Sherlock, to meetings with the prefects and _Sherlock_ , to Quidditch and _Sherlock_. Basically, Sherlock was one of their main points of disagreement. Elizabeth loved him and wanted to maximise his potential and exposure as a Ravenclaw. Mycroft just wished he could keep Sherlock in school, at least while his enrollment as a student lasted. But lately, Elizabeth's mind took a turn that he couldn't have predicted.

"Elizabeth, I'm extremely flattered by your interest, but I will have to pass on the invitation."  
"Mycroft, you and me, we are the same. Both Half-Bloods with Muggle relatives high in the Government and Wizard relatives deep within the Ministry. We both value learning and we both are ambitious, and you are a handsome young man, _don't you dare make a face at me Mycroft Holmes_ , trust me on this. We would look amazing together. The delegations from the schools will be here soon, and there is going to be a Yule Ball this year. We should start dating before that and let the school see us as a First Couple."  
"We are not Royalty, Elizabeth."  
"Speak for yourself. And call me Lizzie, it's what a boyfriend would do. We could be School Royalty. We are already Head Boy and Head Girl, handpicked by the Headmaster and Head of Houses as representatives of the student body."  
"Lizzie," _infernal woman, why was he giving in?_ Well, a monicker wouldn't hurt anyone, "I... I just can't. I have so many things to do, and you know I'm currently interning with my Uncle, which is very hard to do when I'm still at the school."  
"But you manage! That is precisely the kind of boyfriend I need. You are prime material, raw, I admit, but like an unusual potion ingredient, you need some boiling to release all those amazing magical properties."  
"You make a relationship sound painful woman, I thought it was a myth that all Ravenclaw's are insane, but I stand humbled by the analysis of those who came before me."  
"Very funny! Also an amazing quality in a potential partner. Is there someone else? Oh! That face. There is someone else, isn't it."  
_Damn his complexion_ ; he was probably red as a beetroot, "Cease and desist with the infernal meddling!"  
"I'm not afraid of a little competition, in fact, it makes things much more interesting. Since I haven't seen you prancing around the hallways hand in hand with your beloved, I assume it's not official yet. It gives me some time to plan a course of action."

Mycroft groaned, he already knew how tenacious was the girl standing before him. It didn't even matter if he was gay, no, if she wanted Mycroft she would try her damnedest to get him. At the expense of Mycroft's sanity, probably.

"And also, you should try mounting your office somewhere more private, darling; it seems you have another visitor. Another unexpected visitor. What brings you in front of the Godfather, _Monsieur_ Lestrade?" She gave a backwards look to Mycroft and Lestrade took advantage to mouth 'Godfather' as an inquiry to Mycroft, who just shrugged.  
"Ah, hello Elizabeth. I just needed to talk to Mycroft here for a sec."  
"Mmm, Greg Lestrade. The man who rejected being a Prefect, preferring the Quaffle and the other badge. You know our resident grouch here in other than Head Boy capacity?"

Her eyes scrutinised Greg, but he would be damned if he was going to give anything away. Two could play the game, Miss Smallwood, and you better remember Greg Lestrade is no slouch playing word and mind games and knows a little about your interests too.

"Oh, we have a mutual interest in common. Mycroft's little brother is friends with my Seeker, so by default, I babysit him from time to time, try and stop him from getting into trouble. Losing points from Ravenclaw, and all of that." _Take the bait, look at it dangling in front of you_.  
"A good Samaritan! And what do you get from those effective interventions? I hope you are not impeding Sherlock's progress, the poor dear. His brilliance is the crowning jewel of the next generation of Ravenclaws, even though his own family doesn't value his creativity." _Bingo_. He could check out getting her annoyed at Mycroft out of the list.  
"He is a friend of my Seeker, that is what I get from it. Remember, head on the Quaffle and all that."  
"Interesting. I think you are telling me a half-truth, but I will leave you both. For now. Ta, Mycroft darling. Get back on me for that date." And with a dramatic swirl of her long robes and hair, she was out of the room.

Mycroft rolled his eyes as she left, which gave Greg a little time to look around. It was a big office, surrounded by shelves and shelves of books that could even give Mr Morstan, the school librarian, a run for his galleons. There were stacks of parchment everywhere, a kind of organised chaos if you looked at it with kind eyes. Mycroft was seating behind a big desk, in a big chair with green upholstery. Two smaller chairs were in front of his setup, entirely covered in green leather. There was also a small fireplace and a magical teapot with a full set in a little table by the corner. Some empty vials of potion took another stand and a box of something that looked like confiscated items left carelessly on the floor.

"Gregory. How much did you hear?"  
"Not much. Just got the hang that you have an admirer. And a feisty one."  
"How droll, Lestrade. What makes you interrupt my work here in my office when I expressly told you that I was busy? There is a delegation of students coming to the school from the other two big European magic academies. Everything needs to be spotless to receive them. So?"  
"You know, I guess I even prefer when you call me Gregory. So, I need your help. And I also wanted to know why you are avoiding me again. We are supposed to be friends."  
"We are friends, Gregory. I trust you with my brother. You have no idea the privilege that is. It's a privilege not even Lizzie has."  
"You call her Lizzie, yet you refused to call me Greg. What happened with hating diminutives?"  
"I swear that woman hexed me into complying, I've no idea why I keep agreeing to her demands."  
"All her demands?" Greg failed miserably at trying to look casual and uninterested.  
"No! And anyway, what is it to you?" Mycroft was flustered, his face red and a frown in his face that Greg wished he could kiss away. _Lestrade for Morgana's sake get a hold of yourself._  
"Nothing! Just a mate taking an interest in another mate's life."  
"Well, thank you 'mate' for your interest in my wellbeing, but I am still busy, instead of talking about my personal life, which is first and foremost that, personal, you could tell me what brings you here to harass me about my life choices, besides me supposedly avoiding you."  
"Life choices? Interesting 'choice' of words. So you are thinking about it. Dating her, I mean." _Please say no, please say no._  
"Still none of your business, Greg."

Mycroft looked angry now, and Greg knew he had pulled the tail of the hippogriff too hard. Greg raised both his hands up in defeat, "Fair enough. Look, let's stop arguing for the sake of arguing, I know you are busy so I'll keep it quick then, just help me with this and I'll be out of your hair in a mo. I need a tutor for my two beaters, a tutor in Potions on a N.E.W.T. level since one is Professor Gregson's son, and he is grading him on that scale."

  
Greg could see the immediate change in Mycroft's face, give the man a problem and his mind would roam trying to find a solution for it, never mind it didn't affect him directly. In fact, some could even say it was treacherous of him to be helping another house and their Quidditch teams, but Greg was not nitpicky, and it seemed Mycroft didn't see it that way either.

  
"Would they mind if the so-called tutor was in a year lower than them? In fact, let's say several years."  
"Who do you have in mind?"  
"Sherlock."  
"Are you serious? These are _fifth-year students_ Mycroft, one of them receiving grades on N.E.W.T. standards. What could a first-year teach them? In fact, I doubt even if Sherlock had the knowledge he would do it, he has zero patience whatsoever."  
"Sherlock's knowledge of Potions rivals even mine. I'm sure he could also give Professor Gregson some trouble if he didn't idolise the Potion master so. The Professor is great at giving praise when it is deserved, and Sherlock thrives on it. And, you need to remember, my brother loves to show off. This would be an incredible opportunity for him. He, a first-year, teaching fifth-year boys, one of them his mentor's son? It would be like dangling a Snitch in front of Miss Hooper and telling her not to catch it." Greg laughed merrily at the Quidditch reference, making Mycroft beam. "Besides, he owes me. He is going to act like it bothers him terribly and say that I will owe him instead, but he will do it. It also helps that he has a soft spot for Mike Stamford. He defended him from bullies in the Hogwarts Express on the way to school and made him take a seat on an occupied carriage, an action that caused him to meet John and the rest of his band of misfits."  
"Wow, you thought all of that in a second?" Greg smiled his genuinely relieved and happy smile, the one that he reserved for winning a hard game of Quidditch, which caused Mycroft to blush again, this time not in anger though. "You are a real and bonified genius, which I already knew, but maybe you need someone to remind you of it from time to time. Ta, Mycroft, you are a lifesaver. If you can pull this off, I would be eternally grateful."  
"Pish and tosh, Greg. Just keep my involvement in this matter to yourself. It won't do good to my reputation in Slytherin if I'm seen in cahoots with the 'enemy'. Layla Greengrass might choose to remodel my face instead of her dorm room."

Greg shivered. Layla Greengrass, the Captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team and their star Seeker, was ruthless, known for her abilities in the pitch and in fashion and internal design in an equal manner. Also, her girlfriend, Amelia Crabbe, had a mean right hook and was not afraid to use it, in and out of the pitch, which caused many fouls in the Slytherin-Hufflepuff games. At least she didn't use her beater bat, even Matron Stamford couldn't fix Greg's face after _that_.

"I really appreciate it Mycroft, and I know it puts you in a hard spot, so let me show my appreciation by taking you out for a drink at the Three Broomsticks on the next Hogsmeade date?" _Was that smooth enough?_ Please say yes, even if it's only as friends. In fact... "it's the least a friend can do."  
"We'll see. I have mountains of work to finish."  
"I trust you will be done by then."  
"I will if you let me finish."

Taking this as his cue to leave the man to his work, Greg turned, then thought better about it. Not only Gryffindor students were bold.

"Just for the record, I do care."  
Mycroft raised one of his eyebrows, "I beg your pardon?"  
"I do care if you decide to date her. I'll just leave that thought with you. See you later, Mycroft."  
"Oh," Mycroft stuttered then, "un...until later, Greg."

A little white lie was not much between friends. _Or more than friends_ , if Greg got his way. True, it was not good sportsmanship to hide behind well-placed bookshelves and listen to other people's conversations. But Greg Lestrade wanted to keep ahead of the game, especially since the stakes were so high in this particular one. _So prepare yourself, Elizabeth Smallwood. You got yourself an opponent._

 


End file.
